


Aim And Precision

by Cesare, helens78



Series: Hellfire (AU) [6]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Shower Sex, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has a nightmare, but Darwin has his back.  A little bit of Darwin's past surfaces.  And all paths lead back to Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aim And Precision

**Author's Note:**

> Though there are no archive warnings in this section, there are some minor veiled references to a variety of past traumas on the parts of multiple characters; please read with caution.

The dream is different from most; instead of the sterile white padded walls of Erik's room at Genosha, it's the shower. White tile, plastic piping, his head tipped back while water runs over him-- filling his mouth, overflowing, his hair caught in a tight grip at the back of his head. His hands are splayed out against the wall, his collar keeping his power in check, but his power's _there_ , he can feel it inside him. He can feel it within his body, caged behind the confines of that tiny strip of metal.

 _Metal._ The collar should be his to command, his to form and shape and destroy; he should have been able to break it already, piece by piece in those split-seconds before it went back around his neck. And he can do it, every day he's more and more certain of it, but first he needs to survive this. Just this, a few more days, a few more weeks, months, however long it takes--

Erik comes awake all at once, heaving himself over onto his stomach, pushing himself onto his forearms, breathing. No water, he isn't drowning, he isn't hurting. His hands are larger than they were then, a different shape that he's staring at now, and he sits up and rubs at his neck. He's _free_ , no collar. It was easy to wear a collar in Hellfire, when the metal really did belong to him, but the sensation of being trapped behind a wall that should be his to breach... even in a dream, that was horrifying.

He looks at the clock-- a mostly-plastic digital model that replaced the brass-and-glass antique he tipped over the other morning, when Charles was here. It's three twenty-seven, too early to really be up. Still: it's _three twenty-seven_. And he's only been up this once.

He rolls over onto his back and throws an arm over his face. One more try, and if it doesn't work, he'll go for a run. Eyes closed, he thinks about Shaw-- one step at a time, ever-closer, less than two weeks now, _soon_. He'll face down Shaw... his telepath... his teleporter... the whirlwind-controlling bastard Shaw's been working with... and whether Shaw's death is quick or slow, it will all be over. The nightmares will end.

But it's not Shaw he's thinking of as he's falling asleep. Not Shaw, and not revenge; not pain, and not death. He's thinking of gold-plated chess pieces, the pull and lift on a silver-plated rook.

For another hour or so, his sleep is dreamless. And then there's water, and the tug and pull on an adamantium band around his neck, and the drawers around the room start to vibrate.

*

Darwin's the first one to wake up; he doubts anybody else heard the thumping sounds, and at first he was set on ignoring them-- _you guys can move the fucking furniture? Jesus, more power to you, that stuff's heavy_ \-- but when the sounds get faster, a sound of shaking and rattling instead of thumping and pounding, Darwin sits bolt upright, recognizing them for what they're not.

They're not sex noises; something's going on in Erik's room.

He throws on a pair of sweatpants and comes out into the hall; Angel's door opens, and she squints up at him. "Erik?"

"Probably. I got this, go back to sleep."

"Yell if you need backup."

"I will. If there's trouble, though, you might want to get Keya back to the greenhouse. Use the window, not the hall."

Angel's face hardens, and she nods, ducking back into her room and closing the door.

The noises have gotten quieter, and Darwin tries the doorknob. Locked, and he could force it if he had to, but he hopes it's not going to come to that. He tries knocking. "Erik? You all right in there?"

There's one last rattle, and then everything falls silent. Darwin trains his senses on the inside of that room-- silence does _not_ mean he can drop back and get his ass back to bed-- but after a few seconds, he hears a quiet curse, and then there's movement, the bed creaking, footsteps padding across the floor.

Erik opens the door, hair a little wild, the rest of him held under tight control. Darwin can see the cords of his muscles standing out all over-- his neck, his arms, tension evident all the way down to his fingers. There are still bruises on his neck, a few pinpoint crescents on his shoulders, fading marks down his torso. There's a bitemark on his shoulder, still so new it's more red than purple. _At it again_ , Darwin thinks, and he looks back into the room, past Erik, sending out a quick, quiet thought: «Charles?»

He gets back a fuzzy response, a little feeling of inquiry-- Charles was out of it, asleep somewhere. Not here. «Nothing,» Darwin says, «go back to sleep.»

«I'll come... just a moment,» Charles responds indistinctly.

«No, you won't,» Darwin projects. «It's nothing you can help with, and I've got it handled. I'm just checking in to make sure you're out of the way. So stay there.»

Dissatisfaction leaks back to him from Charles, who tends to bleed his feelings a little when he's wiped out. Charles is pretty good about giving people control and responsibility in theory, and he rarely second-guesses the way others handle tricky situations after the fact. But if he knows about a problem before it gets resolved, it's tough to keep his nose out of it.

«I'm asking you to trust my judgement here, okay?» Darwin sends to him. «Let me take care of this.»

The dissatisfaction intensifies, and then disappears, probably Charles blocking it. «All right,» sends Charles, «you can tell me in the morning.»

«Will do.» Darwin tries to put an air of finality into it, and Charles's presence recedes from his mind, dropping uneasily back to sleep.

He looks back at Erik, who's got his jaw set, his hand tight against the edge of the door. "I'm sorry," Erik says. "Nightmare. I'm up now. It won't happen again."

"Hey, I've been there. You don't have to apologize to me." Darwin looks into the room again; now that he's sure Charles is okay, he has some attention to spare for physical damage to the room itself. Both dressers are out of their usual positions, but neither one's been knocked over or broken apart in any way. The alarm clock is tipped over on its side, and Darwin can see the red light from its display blinking on and off in the darkness; Erik must have done something to its circuitry. Still, Darwin checked his own clock before he came down the hall to see what was going on. "It's only five. Not even five, quite. You sure you want to be up this soon?"

Erik's face twists, and he glances back at the bedroom. "I'm not going to get any more sleep like this."

Fair enough. Darwin nods. "You want to go work out? Burn off some of that energy."

Some of the tension comes out of Erik's shoulders, and he exhales softly, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his face. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Go get changed. I'll throw on some clothes and come meet you back here."

Erik nods and ducks back into his room, and Darwin sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. The door next to Erik's opens, and Hank peeks out, squinting-- he doesn't have his glasses on.

"It's okay," Darwin says. "I've got it, go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?" Hank ducks back into his room, nodding at the back wall. "I heard noises, and then suddenly the fork on my nightstand went whooshing over there. It's still stuck to the wall."

"You had a fork on your nightstand?"

"Yeah, Raven brought me a piece of cake last night." Hank looks back at Darwin. "Um. Should I use plastic utensils while Erik's here?"

"Maybe for a bit. Anything else damaged?"

"Not that I could tell. I don't keep much of anything in the room anyway."

Darwin nods. "Okay. Try to get some rest, huh? Don't you and Charles have a Cerebro session tonight?"

Hank's eyes go all wide and interested, despite his obvious lack of sleep. "Yes, and I've been working up some--"

Darwin holds up a hand. "Uh-uh. You got a bed in there, go use it for its actual intended purpose. Sleep until the breakfast meeting if you can; we'll see you then."

A little rueful, but cooperative, Hank nods. "Is he okay?"

"Erik? Yeah. I'm taking him out on a jog, you can grab your fork back if you want."

As he's saying it, he hears a soft _ping_ from inside the room. Hank jumps a little. "Plastic," he says firmly, and he disappears back into his room, shutting the door.

Darwin heads back down to Angel's door and gives it three swift knocks, a pause, and then another knock: all clear. Angel opens the door up, all dressed now, Keya behind her on the bed, lacing up her boots.

"It's cool. You can go back to sleep."

"What's going on?"

"Nightmare. I'm guessing his powers got a little out of control. He moved some of the furniture around a little. You guys are all right, though? Nothing got moved out of place in here?"

"No."

Good to know; that gives Darwin some idea of Erik's range when he's out cold. "Okay. Good."

"Is Charles all right?"

"Charles wasn't there."

Angel blinks up at Darwin. "Really?"

He rolls his eyes at her. "Yeah, apparently they're not _that_ deep in each others' pockets. Could've fooled me, but whatever. I'm taking him downstairs for a workout."

She nods. "Sorry about the early morning, then. Hope he's okay."

"He says so. You know what it's like those first few days out of a place like that, though..."

"Yeah." She comes up on tiptoe and gives him a fast, sisterly little kiss on the cheek; he grins despite himself. "Thanks for riding point on this. I'm going to try to get some more sleep."

"Good call."

All that taken care of, Darwin has just enough time to duck into his room and change into workout clothes before he hears Erik's door open. He ties his shoes and steps outside, and Erik's standing there in his t-shirt and sweats from yesterday, still a little rumpled-looking, still a little tense, but he nods in acknowledgement when Darwin comes up to him.

This time, Darwin takes the risk and reaches out, squeezing Erik's shoulder. "We've all been there," Darwin says. "Come on. You want to take a lap around the grounds, then do some weight training?"

"Yes," Erik says, and Darwin can feel him relaxing just a little, under his hand. "Thank you."

*

After an easy jog around the mansion, they're both limbered up. There's no need to talk during the jog-- Darwin can tell Erik's tempted to push himself a little faster so he won't have enough breath for it anyway, so he paces Erik a little slower and just stays quiet, no pressure, no questions. After a while, it looks like Erik starts calming down for real, his body taking over and pressing out the concerns of his mind. It's not a permanent solution, but it'll do for today.

When they make their way down to the weight room, Darwin nods at the squat cages. "How about a full set of power lifts, going for time again?"

"Fine by me."

"Okay." Darwin grins and gives Erik a sidelong look. "I'm gonna let you load them this time, save my strength for the actual lifting, if that's okay with you."

"It's only fair," Erik allows, smiling just a little before that smile fades away. "I'm sorry to pull you out of bed so early..."

Darwin waves a hand at him. "Don't be. If I were Angel, you might have a little more to be sorry for, but _I_ don't have anybody to climb out of bed with anymore, so--"

 _Fuck._ A joke, right, supposed to be a joke, but jokes shouldn't get more and more bitter the longer Darwin keeps on talking. He looks straight ahead at the weight plates, determinedly not meeting Erik's eyes while Erik looks him over.

"Squats first?" Erik says softly, and he starts moving the rack into position. Darwin nods and then rubs a hand over his face, blowing out a breath.

"Look, I'm sorry about that," he mutters. "You're new here; I know you don't know anybody's history yet."

Erik blinks for a second; this time Darwin does look at him. Erik's expression is still guarded, but a little worried, too; whatever he gets out of Darwin's expression, it makes his eyebrows draw together before he says, tentatively, "You and Charles...?"

Darwin actually rocks back on his heels, eyes going wide. "What? Fuck, no." He shakes his head. "No, it's not about Charles," he goes on, "it's about... somebody else. I lost somebody close to me at Luma. Not all that long ago, if you want to know the truth." Six months, but it still feels fresh to Darwin. "I'm still pretty raw about it."

"I'm sorry." Erik tilts his head forward, quiet and sober now. "You're right; I didn't realize."

"No reason you should've." Darwin shrugs, a little uneasy with the sympathy; somehow it's always hard to take, whether it's from a close friend like Angel or a relative stranger like Erik. "He was part of an experiment-- he had a gift he couldn't always control, and they put him in a test series that was supposed to help him get better at controlling it. I think if he'd been given the option to be cured for good, he would've taken it; up until he and I started working together, he always wanted to be alone. Hated the idea of hurting somebody by accident." Erik nods again, and Darwin glances away for a second. Eight years in Genosha; Erik probably knew people like Alex, probably had a friend or two who hated what their powers did to them. "Turns out the experiment wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Last I saw him he was shooting sparks out whenever he turned around-- I was the only person who could touch him without risking getting burned by the energy he generated, because I could adapt to absorb it or reflect it. And then..."

This part, he remembers like it was yesterday: taking lunch at that table in the corner, waiting for Alex, saving his pudding because today it was chocolate, and Alex loved chocolate. Waiting as the handful of people in the isolated ward came and went, ate and took their trays to the trash bins. Finally breaking down and asking a guard about the blond kid who always ate lunch with him.

"Summers?" the guard said. "He got moved to an intensive care facility last night."

Out of all the doctors who'd been involved in the experiment, only one was still at Luma. It took three days for Darwin to get an appointment to see him, all of which Darwin spent sweating, afraid that he'd be reassigned, too. The rest of the staff, the people Darwin had met himself or who Alex had named, had been scattered to the winds-- like maybe now that the experiment had turned out to be a failure, they were on to other things. It was too much to hope that they'd all been fired, kicked out of the Administration on Genetic Mutation, but for what they'd done to Alex, Darwin sure as hell wanted that to be true.

Getting answers was terrible. Darwin and Alex could hide what they were to each other from most of the people here in Luma, the guards, the other mutants, but Alex was a little too afraid of hurting Darwin, a little too concerned when the energy blasts were almost too much to take. Darwin was a little too quick to rush to Alex's side when he got staggered from all the things he was being asked to do.

The son of a bitch doctor didn't say it outright, but he made it clear that cooperation from Darwin would get him his answers a lot faster, and Darwin agreed to a dozen of those fucking resuscitation tests to get on the doctor's good side. And the doctor looked at him, and shook his head, and said, _I'm sorry, son, but your friend--_

"Anyway," Darwin says, pulling himself firmly out of the past, "if I get a little bitter about things, if I'm touchy when you and Charles are--" he waves a hand, _no_ interest in filling out the end of that sentence, "I'm sorry about that."

"You have every reason," Erik says, firm but quiet. "There's no need to be sorry."

"Yeah, well, I might have to get used to it," Darwin says, going for a little humor; he manages to roll it out with a touch of a smile, and Erik's shoulders relax for just a second before he frowns in confusion. Darwin arches an eyebrow at him. "Unless you're still thinking you're going to be out of here in two weeks."

Wrong thing to say, maybe; just like that, Erik's shut up tight as a drum again. "I'm not making any plans," Erik says carefully. "I'll be here until the job's done."

Darwin nods. Most of the people who end up in bed with Charles don't stay there for long; his escapades are pretty notorious in the tiny community of the Institute, complete with an occasional betting pool on how long the latest person's going to stick around. There are a few exceptions, a couple of people who've come to the house a few times, shacking up with Charles while they work through some resistance stuff, or more infrequently, bigger-picture, behind-government-lines work.

But Darwin's never seen Charles looking smitten with anyone the way he does with Erik. Not to mention those marks Erik's been walking around with, the new ones he had this morning; Darwin's definitely never heard about Charles leaving a claim on somebody like that, and with the way gossip flows around here, that would have gotten talked about. But maybe it's better to take Erik at his word.

"Fair enough," Darwin says. He points at the weights. "Let me have two-fifteen to start."

"All right." Erik reaches out with both hands, moving the safety bars into position entirely in unison-- then both bars, and finally a flurry of weight plates that bang into position on each bar-- two hundred fifteen pounds total for Darwin, an extra forty pounds for Erik. The clips go on at all four ends, coordinated to the point where they're all oriented in the same exact direction, and when he finishes, Erik's a little winded, but he's smiling. He's definitely doing better than he was earlier; Darwin doesn't think they need to worry about wayward forks at this point.

"Now that's not fair at all," Darwin teases. "I can't take you on when you're already worn out. You need a minute to rest?"

"I'm fine," Erik says. "It was the coordination that was taxing more than the weight itself; the weight wasn't much, all told."

It says a lot about Erik's abilities, but it also says something about what he's been using them for. Brute force instead of elegance. Yeah, Darwin can picture that, and the rattling furniture seems to be in the same category. He wonders what an uncontrolled act of elegance would have looked like; he wonders if even Erik knows that.

"Gotten a chance to do any more juggling since last time?"

Erik's lips turn up at one corner, and-- whoa, _okay_ , that's a smirk. Darwin doesn't want to know; he's kind of sorry he asked. _Whatever juggling means to you and Charles, man, you can keep that to yourself._

But the smirk clears after a second, and Erik shakes his head. "Nothing since yesterday," he admits. "Maybe at the end of our session."

"If you've got anything left for juggling practice, I'll cheer you on," Darwin promises.

And they're off.

It's a pretty even match, with Erik up anywhere from ten to thirty pounds on Darwin per lift; about half the matches go to Darwin, about half to Erik. Darwin can feel himself starting to scale up and adapt to the weight near the end of every set, but he keeps it under control.

"You're not using your magnetism to keep those weights going, are you?" Darwin asks, halfway through, when Erik racks his weights first. "Because that's cheating."

Erik laughs. "I promise. Just muscle."

"I believe it," Darwin admits, heading for the cupboards on the wall. He grabs out a couple of towels, one for each of them, and Erik mops the sweat off his face as Darwin swabs the back of his neck. "You're going to need some extra workout gear if you're going to be down here all the time-- can't live on one set of sweats forever."

Erik glances down at his shirt, as if only now noticing the way it's sticking to him. "You're probably right," he admits. "I hope that doesn't mean you have to go shopping again."

"Nah, we can dig something out of the stash." Darwin gestures at the t-shirt he's wearing, one of the ones that has the Xavier Institute logo printed on the upper-left corner.

"A uniform?"

"Not if it bothers you," Darwin says quickly. "We've just got a lot of them sitting around." Darwin nods at Erik's plain t-shirt, the unimprinted sweatpants he's wearing. "They used to give out the shirts with the logos, but nowadays new folks get plain clothes. We've had some people come out with a real aversion to anything that even looks like a uniform." Erik nods. "But I guess at some point they had to put in a huge silkscreen order or something, because we've got boxes and boxes of these things up in the attic. We have a little display somewhere; people can buy them to help us fundraise." The ins and outs of posing as-- really being, kind of--a school. "And some of the teachers and the older students kind of like them." Darwin gestures at himself; he's got one on, after all. "I'm pretty attached to the place, myself. I don't know. For me it's like taking back the idea of going to a school instead of a juvenile facility. Being a part of something normal."

"And you want me to think I'm a part of it too," Erik says, a little flatly. Darwin meets his eyes and holds them; neither of them flinches.

"Whether you're a part of this place or not is up to you," Darwin says, and Erik's expression goes steel-hard again, like he's trying not to think about it. Fair enough. Planning out the future wasn't on Darwin's agenda his first couple of days here, either, and that was without the added complication of a brand-new lover... or whatever it is they're calling it, if they're calling it anything at all. "What are we up to next, overhead presses?"

"I'll get the bars set up," Erik says, and he waves a hand at the barbells, shifting the weights around for their next set.

*

The workout is a relief in almost every sense; when they're finished with the weights, Erik puts them away-- juggling forgotten in the urge to get upstairs and shower off-- and waves to Darwin, thanking him again for the company.

"No sweat," Darwin says, although he laughs at that; they're both covered in sweat. "Listen, maybe later on today we can do something a little more intense. You still haven't really seen the danger room; we could run an obstacle course if you want to try something that challenges _all_ your abilities."

Erik grins. "Not all of us can adapt out of sore muscles," he points out, although for all the exertion, this workout hasn't taxed him quite that badly.

"Easy run," Darwin offers. "We'll keep it toned down, just what you think you can handle."

One eyebrow raised, Erik catches Darwin's smirk and meets it with one of his own. "You don't think I can beat you."

Darwin lifts both hands and shakes his head. "Didn't say that. Wasn't going to say anything of the kind. I think it'd be fun to find out, though."

"I'll think about it," Erik says. "If we have time..."

Darwin grins. "I'll see you at breakfast."

"See you then."

Erik checks one of the clocks on his way upstairs. It's about six-forty-five; a long jog and a longer workout, and he feels more or less whole again.

More or less. Back in his room, he strips out of his sweaty clothes and eyes the bed, wondering whether he's got time for a quick moment of release. He could do it in the shower, but there's something nagging at the back of his mind when it comes to showers, something that had him reluctant to bother with the one downstairs-- or, more importantly, reluctant to be in a shower in close proximity to someone else, and like most locker rooms, the ones downstairs are communal, no privacy. He hasn't stopped to recall what that feeling's about; it probably has something to do with his dreams.

Embarrassing, having made that much of a spectacle of himself. He reaches out with his ability and gently pushes the dressers back into place, pleased with himself that they don't make so much as a squeak on the floor. He'll get the drawers clear after his shower; right now bed is looking like a better and better idea. And after yesterday morning, there's a possibility it might smell like Charles...

That thought sends him heading for the bathroom, impatient with himself. This is absurd. He's been extraordinarily well-laid two nights running, not to mention the morning he spent in that bed with Charles, but he's still craving touch.

Someone else's touch, and that's the kicker; his cock's hard now, enough to be distracting while he goes through his morning routine, but he knows if he beats off, he'll just be hard again in an hour. The body has strange, inconvenient needs at times, and right now Erik misses the years between Genosha and Hellfire, when this particular need was one he could ignore for months at a stretch. A handful of encounters in all that time; it was enough.

Infiltrating Hellfire wasn't a mistake-- he'd have found _someone_ who could have gotten him close to Shaw, if not Shaw himself. Regardless of what Charles said about Shaw not coming back, it was a confirmed location, and someone there would have led him to Shaw, to better information. He knew there'd be a price for it, but his body's been a weapon since he was a teenager, first for Shaw's goals and purposes and then for his own. Weapons come in all forms; it seemed a small enough cost for what he'd get out of it.

But it's hard to deny that he's facing repercussions. At Hellfire, he was expected to perform several times every day. Occasionally they gave him drugs, but mostly they relied on the fact that he's in peak physical condition. After six weeks of that treatment, his body is still accustomed to frequent sex.

He goes through the motions of preparing for his shower, all mechanical, a matter of habit and routine. After the workout downstairs, he can skip the calisthenics, but he does his customary long solid full-body stretches to identify any sore spots or places he'll need to be careful of, eyes himself in the mirror to see how his marks are healing. The superficial ones from Hellfire are all but gone now; in another day or two, the only marks left on his body will be from Charles.

Thinking about Charles's marks doesn't help with the distraction, but he goes on doggedly anyway, determined to get through the sequence: morning piss, teeth brushed, face washed, shower.

He pushes the curtain back and twists the knobs with a gesture, adjusting the spray until it's good and hot, and then he climbs in, turning around slowly to knock some of the sweat off his body. He turns toward the spray, tipping his head up, letting it flow over his face--

\--he _remembers_ , he remembers his dream, the collar around his neck, the hand gripping his hair and holding his face beneath the flow. He's awake now, controlled, he doesn't reach for anything metal, but he pushes back a little, gets his face out from under the water.

He's harder than ever, and he snarls at himself, angry, frustrated, _irritated_. It's the six weeks he spent at Hellfire, not to mention the five days he spent with his contact, preparing to infiltrate the place; it's the night and morning and night, again, with Charles. He's getting too used to this: wanting, having those wants satisfied.

 _Get it over with,_ he thinks, and he takes himself in hand, reminding himself that this can be like any other part of his morning routine: done quickly and by rote.

But as the water cascades over him, the arousal from the dream bleeds away, and he's left thinking about the last time his hand moved like this: last night, in the study, Charles beneath him, Charles's cock hot and silky against his.

For a few seconds, it's a struggle-- get this over with versus thinking about Charles, immersing himself in memories of last night, of yesterday morning, of the night before. And then Erik sighs and leans forward into the water again, letting it drench him. _How long are you going to have this? Another thirteen days? Take advantage, for God's sake; this might never happen again._

With that, he's reaching out his awareness, wishing Charles had some sort of everyday jewelry, something Erik could sense in order to get a vague impression of where Charles is, what he's doing. A thin chain on Charles's right wrist, and Erik could even tell if he were doing something along the lines of what Erik's been doing in the shower. He can imagine how arousing that would be, the hint and tease of metal gliding up and down, back and forth, quick solid strokes in a rhythm. He could even encourage Charles to go faster-- maybe he could curve that chain around Charles's fingers and get him to stroke harder, give himself more pressure.

Charles, on the other hand, wouldn't need anything extra to look into Erik's mind at a moment such as this one. He'd only need the urge to do it. If he was telling the truth about staying out of Erik's mind until Erik invites him in, he'd only need permission.

He gives himself one long, gliding stroke, and temptation tugs at him, too much to resist. He won't walk out of this shower half-washed and sopping wet, won't let Charles see that much desperation, but maybe Charles is already out there and awake; maybe even if they're not in the same room, Erik can get his attention.

He gathers up his focus, centers himself-- takes his hand off his cock, for this-- and sends a thought out into the open. «Charles?»

«?» --it's a sleepy, wordless reply in his mind, and then, «Erik!» Apparently being less than perfectly awake means Charles isn't as controlled as usual, because a sense of happiness and fascination seeps through with just the thought of Erik's name. And just as quickly, Erik feels Charles's avid curiosity take hold, gets a sense of the quick workings of his mind as Charles says, «You're still downstairs. I've never met anyone who could project as well as you without being taught how! It really is remarkable.»

Erik takes a little satisfaction in that; what he's done with Charles so far has been all instinct, and still he's exceeding expectations. He's unlikely to develop any sort of extrasensory skills of his own, apart from the ability to sense metal, of course, but having talents in projecting to telepaths could come in very handy later on.

Later on, though, is later on... whereas now is now, and Erik slides his hand down his cock again, tightening his grip. Charles may be impressed with his projection, but Erik hasn't managed to get the tone quite right, it seems. «I must not be giving you the entire picture,» he sends. «Here, let me see if I can show you.»

He tries a little harder for a full image this time, not just a single bright thought meant to attract Charles's attention. He concentrates on what he's seeing: hot water sluicing down his body, his hand on his cock, the soft slow rhythm of his lazy morning strokes.

It occurs to him that he could be interrupting something, that Charles might not be alone-- although judging by everyone's reactions, Angel, Raven, even Darwin this morning, Erik's relatively sure no one else in this mansion has a claim on him, at least not one that would mean spending the night in Charles's bed. Still, it _is_ more polite to ask first; maybe he should have done that before sending the image. «Tell me to back off and I will, but I wanted...» In for a penny, in for a pound; he focuses all his will on giving Charles that view, showing Charles what Erik's doing, what got Erik thinking of him.

He can tell when the image is clear enough for Charles to see, because Charles sends back a startled «Oh!» and a strong sense of intrigue and pleased amusement. «Good morning to you too!»

No recrimination, no cutting off that connection, no sense whatsoever that this isn't something Charles wants; Erik exhales, shoulders sinking slightly in relief. He leans into the spray again, letting it wash over his face. Last night's dreams sent him calling out for metal, rattling drawers, waking people up; he wants those memories blotted out with this: new memories, new people, this strange new world he's been invited to visit.

When he draws back from the spray and looks down again, watches as he strokes his cock a few more times and sends the image along to Charles, Charles's mental voice goes a little more coy. «You wanted…?»

That playful note in Charles's voice is already becoming familiar. Erik wouldn't have expected Charles to be playful based on their first meeting, but then he supposes Charles wouldn't have expected Erik's answering urge to meet him on that level, the tentative steps he's taken in that direction. It's becoming more and more clear that Charles isn't a one-night stand or a casual fuck; maybe when one has a lover (if that's what Charles is; it's so hard to define what Charles is to him), one's allowed to have a moment or two of frivolity, now and then. Even in moments of reclaiming.

That doesn't mean Erik wants to play games, exactly. He moves his hand a little more slowly, drawing it out-- and yes, that's a bit of tease for both of them, but there's also the possibility that Charles's response to _I want_ could end up being _yes, of course_ ; Erik doesn't want to wear himself out too soon if that's the case. Erik takes a deep breath. «You could join me.»

«Tempting.» Charles sends his own somatic state: relaxed and curled up cozy in his warm bed, limbs still heavy and languid even though his body is increasingly manifesting interest in what Erik's showing him. «But I don't need to physically relocate to be with you.»

Erik has a different sense of Charles in his mind at that, a quality of easy exertion, as if Charles is reaching for something nearby. And then, even though his eyes are open and he sees nothing but tile and fixtures, Erik feels as if he's being kissed; not as if he's remembering a kiss but as if it's happening right now, complete with the sense of closeness, breath on his face, lips eager against his.

It's familiar, and he places it, as it intensifies: last night's first kiss in the study, fading away now, too soon.

It's Erik's turn to send his surprise as he licks his lips, chasing the sensation. His thoughts come through a little flustered. «Oh, you-- that was--» Charles has done any number of interesting things to him since they met; it's a somewhat capricious use of his powers, but Erik can hardly complain about being on the receiving end. And if Charles can send those sensations, maybe he can receive them as well: a little muted perhaps, Erik has neither Charles's gift nor the amount of practice Charles has had, but worth trying.

«Your turn.» Erik focuses on what it would feel like to have his mouth on Charles's cock: from his knees, he thinks, hands on Charles's hips urging him to go deeper, harder. «Yes, yes... give it to me, I like it...»

In return he receives the feel of Charles stretching a little in his bed, sliding a hand into his boxers and wrapping his hand around his erection, giving himself a little pressure but no motion yet. «I don't have any memories to draw on, to recreate how that would feel. Though the way you imagine it is _very_ nice.»

«No memories?» Erik asks, the surprise jolting him out of the fantasy. «You can't mean no one's ever...?» Surely a man with all the opportunities Charles has had would have been given that kind of pleasure before.

But stranger things have happened; Erik himself can count on one hand the number of times it's been done to him. He supposes that's one of the drawbacks to never having had a lover before, only a very few one-off encounters and a great many more experiences where sex was about power, about making Erik feel powerless. No one at Genosha or Hellfire was particularly inclined to think about Erik's pleasure.

But there have been a few times, and he can share one of those memories now. He picks the memory from which he can remember the most detail: a men's room, inside a stall, leaning up against a metal divider. The man in front of him is blond, handsome, artfully-messy hair and a neatly-trimmed beard, and his momentum from the several drinks he's consumed has left him a little awkward and sloppy, his saliva coating Erik's cock and sliding down his chin, too. But the feel of it still has Erik's mouth gaping open, still has him panting with pleasure and pushing back and forth, between the cheap steel and the man's mouth. The steel flexes and bows behind him as the man takes him further and further in...

He gets a different feeling of surprise back from Charles, who, it seems, didn't expect Erik to share a memory like that so readily. «Thank you,» Charles tells him. «Though what I meant was, I don't have any memories of doing that with you. I wouldn't use a memory of someone else, to me that's-- rude, unsatisfying. Not what I want.» Charles adds slyly, «You're going to have to let me do that for you sometime. I really think I can give you a better memory than that.»

And Erik receives the sensation of a tight, skillful mouth sucking and sliding along his shaft, tongue rubbing underneath, perfectly paced.

It's incredible, like nothing he's ever felt before, and just like that he's working his cock harder, as if he needs to match his physical arousal to the excitement burning through his mind. But at that pace, this will all be over very quickly, so Erik turns into the spray, trying to distract himself long enough to keep this going a little while longer. «Yes,» he tells Charles, hoping the intensity of his desire for it comes through. «That. Soon, I hope.»

Charles shares his own desire to fulfill that promise, the way his mouth is watering just at the thought. «Maybe I _will_ come down after all,» he says. «Though I'm not in a state to go wandering the halls, thanks to you.»

It makes Erik smile. An attraction that goes both ways, one that didn't end with the break of dawn or after their first fevered encounter-- it's time to stop second-guessing the urgency of it, the desire to be with Charles every time they have a moment to spare. There'll be plenty of opportunity to prepare for their attack on Shaw over the next two weeks, Erik has done nothing for years _but_ prepare, and so much of their planning already seems like a case of hurry-up-and-wait; why not have this for himself in the meantime?

«There'll be other mornings, if you can't come meet me now,» Erik thinks. Other mornings, nearly two full weeks of them. After a decade of stolen moments with strangers, spread months apart if not years, two weeks really is more than he can imagine.

He takes his hand off his cock, finally, and gestures at the faucets to cool the water a degree or two. If he wants this to last-- and he does-- he needs to ease his body away from arousal, just a little. The feel of Charles's mouth around his cock is still lingering in his mind, maybe because Erik can't help thinking about it, maybe because Charles is still holding it there for him, and Erik slicks his hair back, glancing down his body where it seems like Charles really ought to be kneeling. «I'm starting to realize there are some... _advantageous_ applications to your power...»

«I've been remiss if you're only just now seeing that!» Accompanying the thought is the bizarre but welcome feeling of what Charles's teasing smile feels like from the inside, along with a surge of physical well-being: Charles, snuggled in his bed, turned on but not urgent yet, fully aware of his body in a pleasurable way.

Charles sends, «Of course you know about this--» and Erik's hand moves under Charles's control, palming over his abs and the planes of his chest and coming up to rest at the base of his neck, with just enough pressure to make Erik aware of how much more Charles could exert.

«And this,» with another sensation of a kiss, a different one this time, a slower burn; it might be a replayed memory of last night's goodbye kiss.

«And there are some things I shouldn't do while you're in the shower, but there's this; don't be surprised,» and suddenly it's as if Charles actually appears-- not just as if Erik's seeing him, but also the physical sense of him naked and close, the illusion only pierced by the water that's fountaining down on Charles without touching him. And just as soon as Erik detects that flaw, the water begins to bead on Charles's skin and run down his body exactly the way Erik would expect if Charles were really here. The semblance of Charles strokes Erik's chest, fingers playing along the line of his collarbone, and Erik truly feels his hand.

Reaching out before he can stop himself, Erik gasps when he touches only air and the illusion vanishes. No doubt Charles could give him more, a persistent double complete with the real physical sensation of touching as well as being touched, but is he fast enough to keep that going while Erik presses his telepathic doppelganger into the tiles? Good enough for that? Would Erik be able to hold his balance if there weren't really anyone to press against? It's all so tempting, he's so curious about all of it.

It could be useful in a fight, too; making someone fight more than one person when only one opponent exists... but no, this is Erik's morning, part of Erik's two weeks; when he's up and dressed and with the others, he'll think about training again. For now, he can be shameless, he can be hungry. He can have this little oasis of desire, just between the two of them.

«Clever,» Erik says, slowly moving his hand through where Charles's projected self was just a moment ago. He wonders, though... the traces of memory are simple enough to accept, and a physical doppelganger is probably one of the easier forms of contact for Erik's mind to process. But surely there are others. «Is it all about images and memories? Motions? Physicality?»

He can't tell if Charles continues to transmit emotions along with his words because he's still sleepy, or if it's deliberate, but Erik can feel Charles enjoying the question, his satisfaction that Erik is thinking through the implications.

«No, not necessarily; not at all,» Charles sends. «Your instincts were on the mark, I like to use those things because, well, they're a bit easier for people to take. I could just go straight to stimulating the pleasure centers of your brain, but that's not safe while you're in a shower, you might fall over. » An effervescent sense of mischief. «You'd _probably_ fall over.»

That sounds like a challenge to Erik, who glances around the shower for anything he could support himself with. The trouble with plumbing is that while it provides a great deal of readily-available metal, actually _using_ that metal presents a number of issues. «It's possible. Too bad, though; I'd be curious to feel that.» He glances down his body and strokes his hand over his cock again-- no less hard for all the thought and conversation they've been sharing. «I still want you.»

«I noticed,» Charles virtually purrs in response. «I have a thought; give me a moment to pull some memories together?» It really is just a moment, then: «If you'd like to try this, then face the wall and brace yourself.»

Erik glances at the wall beside him, beige tile, piping just behind it, probably enough to brace himself on without actually doing any damage to the plumbing. He's curious what Charles has in mind-- whose memories was he pulling together, his own? Erik's? Not the ones that sent Erik here, Erik hopes, but no; they've known each other barely more than a day, but already Erik trusts Charles enough to believe he'd never use those memories, that he'd rather not think of Erik having them at all. Understandable; Erik wouldn't wish those memories on anyone, sometimes not even himself.

Following orders blindly hasn't been Erik's habit over the last several years, Hellfire notwithstanding, but he finds himself oddly eager to do so anyway. It could be Charles's influence... but Erik doubts that, too; if Charles really wanted to take Erik over, he could do so far more directly than simply giving Erik a slight, probably-resistible urge to follow his lead.

The truth is, Erik does want this-- all of it, whatever Charles wants to give him-- and yes, Charles has been unforeseeably intoxicating, yes, he could be a distraction if Erik allowed that to happen, but Erik sought him out, not the other way around. If he hadn't done that, the first time he would have seen Charles this morning would have been at breakfast, the two of them exchanging their first greetings over toast and jam. And Charles likely would have been satisfied with only that.

 _Don't be a coward,_ he thinks to himself. _You've walked into danger more times than you can count, is it really that much more terrifying to walk into pleasure?_

It is, a little; all the same, he turns to face the tiled wall and places his hands carefully on it, the water cascading over his right hip as he holds himself still. «All right,» he sends. «I'm ready.»

*

Charles indulges in a huge yawn, stretching and twisting in bed, feeling the flex of muscle and the pop of ligaments snapping into place along his spine. He stretches his awareness as well, rippling it out shallowly over the estate: all inhabitants accounted for, everyone where they should be. Down the hall, Raven is still asleep. Though Hank is awake, he isn't bunking in the lab, he's in his own room, as promised. Angel is up as well, in the greenhouse with Keya, while Darwin's moving around in his room.

And Erik, Erik is in the shower, sending, «I'm ready.»

Settling back into the warm hollow he created in the blankets overnight, Charles palms himself again through his boxers, smiling. This is certainly a much more welcome way to wake up than his alarm clock.

He considers the memories he's collected for Erik. He's careful only to choose memories with happy associations; rather sadly, this means there's only one usable instance of shower sex with another person available to work with. Charles will really have to fix that soon. He's also determined to provide Erik with a proper interlude of slow, attentive oral sex, not just some sloppy stranger gobbling at him in a men's room.

For now, though, he works with what he has. He casts his awareness to Erik again, Erik's anticipation, Erik's surroundings.

Charles uses Erik's shower sex memory, careful not to take it all, stripping out just the sensations in order to create the feeling of a water-slick body behind Erik, and wet hands traveling over his body; and simultaneously, interwoven with those sensations, Charles brings in Erik's memories from the first night at the Hellfire Club of Charles behind Erik, pressed close.

Eavesdropping on Erik's body, Charles can feel Erik's gasp, his fingers flexing against the tile.

«Yes, that's-- more, please, I can feel you, I can almost feel you...» Erik sends.

No reason to delay; Erik was already excited when he called on Charles. Charles brings in the full force of the memory from Hellfire, what it felt like for Erik when Charles opened him up and fucked him; it's not easy to keep that coordinated with the shower-sex memory, he has to make sure he's not projecting two sets of hands at once, or otherwise mucking it up.

It all seems familiar to Erik, but the combination makes it fresh for him, newly delicious. Erik holds still, which is helpful, and Charles punches up the Hellfire memory a bit, emphasizes the stretch and burn of penetration, Charles's hands on Erik's hips.

«Yes, oh-- yes, I-- I think I'm close,» Erik's thoughts come stuttered and heated, «but-- I don't know, how will I, will you make me...?» Charles catches another glimpse of Erik's surroundings as Erik opens his eyes, the echo of Erik's amazement at finding himself still in the shower alone, standing easily upright braced against the wall.

Charles keeps the most crucial memories going, though the shower sex memories dim to surreality while he sends more verbally structured thoughts. He can multitask on a level most people find hard to conceive, but doing all this at once in real time is a challenge. A welcome one. Ordinarily he only gets to do this sort of thing when he's fooling humans, when it's always crucial and stressful and too much depends on getting it absolutely right.

Feeding all these perceptions to Erik just to make him feel good is a singular pleasure, and not just because he's also sharing in all Erik's reactions himself.

«I can use your hand if you like, but it's not necessary,» he offers, projecting his assurance. «The mental stimulation will be enough, I promise.» He grins, sending the impish feeling of it as he adds, «May as well not bother, save your wrist.»

He backs up the assertion by bringing all the recollected sensations back in force: a wet body behind Erik, Erik's memory of getting so close to climax at Hellfire just from being fucked, and Charles's hand closing around his cock.

Secondhand, Charles can feel the way Erik's moving against the wall as if being pushed there, shoved over and over with only the tiles to hold him up, gasping aloud. It passes through Erik's mind that he'd be utterly embarrassed if anyone saw him like this, alone and obviously desperate, and the distraction backs Erik off from orgasm a little, even while he's sending, «Yes, yes, more, fuck me harder, please, Charles!»

On the fly, Charles pulls in another memory Erik has, of being used a little more brutally than Charles has done, and he shades that in as well. Experiencing everything Erik is feeling, and coordinating so much, he can't help bleeding a bit of his own arousal back to Erik, his reaction to Erik's willingness, the excitement of feeling Erik respond to him like this.

Erik's teeth dig into his lip. «God! Yes, that's it, just like that, don't stop, don't stop... please, please, anything, let me do something for you--»

«You are, don't you understand?» Charles tries to push across his exultation, the delectable flex of using his powers so fully. «This is amazing, no one ever lets me-- and I'm feeling everything I'm giving you, as well. It's that good for me too--»

Charles feels more shreds of memories drifting alongside the ones he's bringing to life for Erik and he reels those in as well, adding the lick of the belt from that night at Hellfire, along with his hips slapping against Erik's as he fucks him and pulls him off relentlessly.

«Harder, damn it, that whole first night was a tease, I wanted you to _hurt_ me, I wanted it to leave me sore all night,» Erik sends, frantic, so close.

Charles feels-- competitive, almost, at that, but he can't risk pulling another unrelated memory of Erik's right now, he doesn't have the attention to spare to make sure he's getting something with positive connotations. Instead he mixes in a memory of his own, giving Erik the sensation of being slammed with every thrust in a way that Erik might've only rarely experienced himself before: fucked by someone much bigger, someone able to really bring more strength and mass to bear, his whole body wrenched by it again and again.

«Yes! Yes-- Charles, yes, yes,» Erik's climax hits him hard, one bone-shaking jolt after another; it leaves him panting, reveling in the phantom aches of being reamed and bruised, savoring it. His whole body hums with it; it makes Charles want to purr and roll around in it, feeling it through Erik.

From those too-few positive shower sex memories, Charles produces the sensation of wet hands on Erik's shoulders and back, gentle, soothing him down, while Charles himself strips out of the ruin of his boxers and wipes himself up a bit, making a face at the mess.

Erik, normally so clear when he projects thoughts, is a tangle now of: «Oh. Charles. God, that was... you're, that's... ohhh.»

Charles communicates his own sense of loose, accomplished contentment. «I feel I cheated a little,» he admits. «I'm just going to have to try to really fuck you as hard as you want it, so there's a better memory to use.»

«Please! Yes, that's-- yes.» He can feel Erik pulling himself together a bit before sending a more composed, «I'd like that.»

«So would I,» Charles grins, and sends a last kiss, their goodnight kiss from the night before. «Now I have to go clean up as well. I'll see you at breakfast.»

«I'm looking forward to it.»

*

Raven knuckles some sleep out of her eyes and yawns, kicking Charles's door. She doesn't really have any business getting peeved at him for making her knock; she's the one who told him it was rude to start projecting at people before they even had a chance to tap at the door.

Still, she knows he knows she's out here and it's kind of annoying to wait around.

«Charles, come on,» she shoves the words forward, imagining them popping out of her head, the way Charles teaches everyone to do. For that, like for so many things, Raven played guinea pig, trying a dozen different ways to think _loudly_ or _differently_ so that her thoughts would catch Charles's attention, even when he wasn't tuned specifically in to her.

«Sorry, I was just getting dressed and checking in with Hank and Suhail,» Charles responds. «I'm decent now, come in.»

"You might be dressed, but you're not decent," Raven jokes as she comes in... but actually, it's kind of true.

Charles finishes buttoning his shirt and runs his hands back through his hair; it's close to his usual neat style, but looser, more like the way Angel tousled it up for his Hellfire appointment. Everything about his body language is screaming _Just got laid very, very, extremely well, thanks._ He's giving off an almost visible glow.

"God, is Erik in here? Don't tell me it's okay to come in if he's in here!" Raven sweeps a quick look around the suite. No one still in bed, no water running in the bathroom, doesn't look as if anyone's in Charles's private little office where he keeps all his genetics research...

"Of course he's not in here," Charles practically bubbles.

"But he's been here," she says. "Look, I wish I didn't, but unfortunately, I do know how you look after you've gotten laid. He was here."

"Not as such."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means," Charles says, his lips turning up at the corners. "Not as such. He hasn't physically been here."

"What, did you guys have psychic virtual sex?" she kids, and sees complacent amusement in his relaxed shoulders. "You _did?_ How? I mean-- don't literally tell me how, absolutely don't do that, but... there's no way he lets you that far into his head, is there? Wait," she replies to the _yes_ of his body language, "seriously? He does?"

"Why don't I just keep my awareness involved in this experiment Hank's working on, and you can carry on talking to the rest of me?" says Charles, shrugging into a cable-knit navy sweater vest.

"You're wearing that?" asks Raven, momentarily diverted.

Charles looks down at himself. "What?"

"Never mind. It's great. Go with that." Not that it's likely to put the brakes on at this point. If only Charles could look as nerdy as he actually is. But he never does; if she's honest, he even kind of pulls off his old-man sweaters.

"You said yesterday," Raven remembers. "He's naturally good at projecting, you mentioned that."

"He is," Charles beams.

"So he shows up out of nowhere already able to project thoughts, and now he's letting you use his brain for a playground. How are you not suspicious of this guy?"

That wipes the smile off his face. "Didn't we already have this conversation?"

"No, it seems like what we had was me talking, and you blowing me off." Raven sits on the arm of the overstuffed chair. "There's something weird about this. You know I'm right, Charles. Or you wouldn't be this pissy and defensive about it."

"I'm not pissy or defensive," Charles defends pissily. "He's let me read him several times now. He's not lying."

"He shows up already able to project without any training. He brings us this dangerous mission. This Shaw guy has a telepath who could have put anything in his head. How do you know Shaw didn't _send_ Erik? Maybe he's trying to lure us in."

"If that were the game, they would've blocked me from discovering that they have a telepath," says Charles. "Look, let me propose something. You're welcome to be as paranoid as you like about Erik, but please at least wait until after the strategy meeting."

"I don't see how a strategy meeting is going to change my mind. A guy who just happens to be your walking wet dream strolls in here and lets you hop into his head whenever you want, and he wants us to follow him into danger in two weeks--"

"He didn't ask, I offered," Charles says. "He was intent on going it alone until I persuaded him otherwise. And I know what you're going to say: he could've been set up to behave that way in order to convince us he's legitimate. But that isn't helpful, Raven. If you see something, if you have any reason to believe the worst besides rampant speculation, then of course I'll listen. Otherwise... consider your doubts duly registered."

"Duly registered?" Raven repeats. "Are you sure you can't come up with a shittier way to say that? Why don't you just tell me to my face to fuck off, it'd be more honest and less tool-y than this crap."

Charles faces her, and for a second she thinks he might actually do it; maybe he really will tell her to fuck off, over a guy he met all of two days ago.

"If you find a reason, a real reason, to reconsider this, then I will," he says. "Otherwise..." Charles licks his lips, brow tightening, and he looks at her. "Can I just-- have this. Please."

"I don't know why you're pretending to ask me, except to try to make me feel bad about it," she says. "You just made it pretty clear you don't give a shit what I think."

He sighs. "You know I do."

"Sure, until I say something you don't want to hear."

"All right. Advise me. What do you want me to do differently?" Charles asks. "Do you want me to keep my distance? I can't. Be more careful? I can't."

At least now he's being honest with her. Raven looks at him, and he meets her eyes steadily, a little regretful, a lot determined.

"Okay," she says finally. "But just so you know, if I'm right... epic I-told-you-sos."

"I'm counting on it," he smiles with a little eyeroll, relaxing.

"I'm serious," she warms to it. "I-told-you-sos coming down on you to the bitter end while we're all screaming in flames just because you couldn't keep it in your pants."

"I can almost sort of possibly promise it's unlikely to come to that," he answers, and now they're both laughing.

They can't talk like this around the others, it's too morbid, and just about everyone else here has really been through the shit that she and Charles have mostly managed to dance around their whole lives. Sometimes when she watches cop shows, Raven feels a weird sense of kinship with the detective characters; she and Charles are kind of like that, coming into contact with other peoples' tragedies over and over again, using black humor to keep a little sanity, a little distance.

She could never talk to Hank like this, and she's willing to bet no matter how steely and stoic he comes off, Erik Lehnsherr couldn't handle it either. There are still some things that she and Charles only share with each other.

"C'mon," she says, squooshing him in a quick hug, "let's get something to eat."

*

When Angel gets to the dining room, she's a little surprised to find herself the last one to show up. Usually Charles and Hank need to be forcibly pulled away from whatever they were doing, but of course Raven's there, talking animatedly to Charles about the new security installations and what they're going to cost, and Hank's at Raven's side, tapping away at his tablet.

Erik's on Charles's other side, no surprise, but as much as the two of them are shining little beacons of chemistry and interest at each other-- if they're not playing footsie under the table, it's only because the idea hasn't occurred to them-- they're not as blatant as they were at lunch yesterday. Which is good, because it means Darwin's a little more relaxed than he was then.

She squeezes Darwin's shoulder as she slides into a seat, and she sets all the dossiers she's collected on the table, at the empty place setting beside her. "How's everyone doing?"

"Good," Darwin says firmly, meeting her eyes and then tilting his head a fraction of an inch in Erik's direction. That answers the biggest question on her mind. After having to get Keya bundled up and just about having to fly out the window with her, Angel's pretty sure she's going to be sleeping in the greenhouse for the next couple of weeks while Erik's still here. She's not judging, she's been right where Erik is, but in her case, the worst that happened was falling out of bed a couple of times, waking up in pain because her wings weren't strong enough to catch her yet. Erik can wreck metal, and there's a lot of it in the house, in any house.

Angel looks over what's been set out for breakfast and takes a grapefruit, slicing it in half and neatly opening up all the little segments so she can dig them out with her spoon. She discreetly holds the spoon to her mouth first, spits a little acid out and spreads it over the fruit. Food doesn't taste good if she puts it in her mouth first. When she first got here five years ago, it was such a relief to finally be able to eat the way she wanted, with nobody blinking an eye.

Everyone else has been tucking in already. Hank looks to be on his third or so cup of coffee, and Erik's plate is pushed away from him, as if he's finished breakfast and is waiting for everyone else to catch up.

Raven picks up a croissant and drops it unceremoniously onto Charles's plate, not even pausing her sentence, and Charles picks up the croissant and starts tearing into it, almost idle-- his conversation turns spotty as he eats, voice cutting out as he switches to telepathy during bites. Raven never even seems to notice that sort of thing, but Erik shifts, frowning, and Charles lifts both eyebrows and looks back at him. He nods at Erik, whose expression clears immediately, and despite Raven's little nose-wrinkle, the three of them are right back to security enhancements, Erik's objections to the lake noted but shelved for now.

Finishing up her grapefruit, Angel picks up her plate and Darwin's, and Darwin hops up from the table along with her, clearing off leftovers and helping her into the kitchen with them.

"Okay, how is he, really?" Angel asks, once they're in the kitchen and out of earshot.

"Honestly? About as good as we can expect," Darwin says. "He had it pretty much together the minute I woke him up, and nothing much outside of his own room got moved around." Darwin grins. "One fork in Hank's room-- apparently it got stuck to the wall and it dropped off when Erik really cooled down. Hank says he'll be using plastic while Erik's here."

Angel snorts. "Yeah, not a bad plan. You think we should move Erik into a different room? If his range while he's having nightmares is only about one room wide, if we just put him one room over, he'll be fine."

"I think we take the chance for now. This way we know what's going on. If it's worse tonight, we'll talk about it. I had a quick look at his room, and the only thing that got moved around was the furniture and the alarm clock."

"Not even the pipes in the bathroom, huh?"

"No, we'd have heard that. We'd have water leaking into the floor below."

"I'm still sleeping in the greenhouse," Angel says, shaking her head. "I don't really want to take risks with Keya."

"Yeah, I don't blame you."

Angel looks up at him, but not only is he sounding a little less rough around the edges today, he doesn't have that little touch of hurt that tends to come around when someone's getting protective about a lover. She's not going to fool herself into thinking it means he's getting better, but... any day when losing Alex hangs a little less heavily on him is a good day.

"I know that look," Darwin says, stretching out a hand to her. She takes it, and he squeezes her fingers gently. "I actually mentioned Alex to Erik. I was kind of bitchy to him for a second there, and he somehow got the idea that I was into _Charles_."

Angel actually has to cover her mouth to hold in the laugh. "No. Seriously?'

"Yeah, and I mean, it was on the tip of my tongue to say I didn't want to take a number, but..."

She winces. "Owww, yeah, no, let the guy be happy for a while if he can. You know how these things with Charles go..."

"I know how everybody _says_ they go. But under that turtleneck, dude's covered in marks."

It's like being slapped in the face; Angel's put all that behind her, but she still slips her hand out of Darwin's and frowns up at him. "He was in _Hellfire_ for six weeks, you expect him to come out of that clean?"

"Shit! No, I didn't mean that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" Darwin winces and shakes his head. "What I mean is, Erik's covered in _new_ marks, stuff he didn't have yesterday, and yesterday he had marks he didn't have the day before."

Angel lets her shoulders drop, the tense spot just above her wings loosening a little. "I saw some of that yesterday when I took him flying," she says, "but I didn't know how much of it was from Hellfire and how much of it... wasn't."

"Today? Most of it's not."

Whistling softly, Angel nods. "Yeah, okay, I see what you're getting at. I don't know. Erik came this close to running off last night; I'm still not putting my money on his being in it for the long haul."

"We'll see," Darwin says. "You want to help me get the rest of the trays in?"

"Sure, yeah. I think everyone's probably all wrapped up."

It turns out they are, and Charles is back to talking with his voice and not his mind, which means Angel gets to hear something about infrared sensors as she pulls plates off the table and taps Hank to do his share. He blinks up from his tablet, but when he sees them clearing the table, he pitches in, and between the three of them, it doesn't take long to get everything sorted out.

When they get back, Angel slides copies of the dossier into place in front of Raven, Charles, Erik, Darwin, and herself, and when Hank takes up his tablet again, she says, "The file's in the usual place."

"Oh! Great." A few taps to his screen, and Hank's on the same page as the rest of them, or close enough, anyway.

"So the first thing we need to be looking for is _more intel_ ," Angel says, tapping her fingers on the file folder in front of her. "I dug up a little bit on everybody, but apart from Shaw himself, there isn't much. All the mutants working with him have a little bit of information except the telepath-- I don't even have a name on her. I ran a cross-reference on all the known telepaths the resistance has information about, but there's really no one who matches up. Most of them are still collared, tagged and chipped. I'm not liking what this says about Shaw's ability to alter records."

"He had time enough, contacts enough," Erik says. "It's possible he's been working with this telepath for years, maybe since before the end of his AGM career."

"Well, that's the other thing, his career's not as over as it seems." Angel flips open her folder, and the others do the same, Hank's fingertips gliding over the screen of his tablet. "He's not working in an official capacity now, but he's still got ties to some of the detention facilities, on the medical side instead of the research side-- _if_ you believe the human researchers who say all their work is original, of course. From what I could pull, he's working under an assumed name, 'Klaus Schmidt', and he works with mutants who are pretty much at the end of the line--"

Charles's eyes snap to Darwin, his expression immediately concerned, and Angel's words strangle themselves out in her throat. Darwin's looking down at the picture they have of Shaw, ten years old but the best they've got, and his hands are clenched so tightly she can see the strain going all the way up to his elbows.

 _Medical. Mutants who are at the end of the line._ She knows the story about Alex, knows his powers were out of control by the time Darwin lost sight of him, knows that he was shuffled out to an intensive care facility-- but that was at _Luma_ , smack in the middle of Ohio, and the last place Angel has clear confirmation of anyone seeing Shaw was on the West Coast.

Darwin meets Charles's eyes, and something passes between the two of them. Whatever Charles says, Darwin nods once, sharply, but a split-second later he winces, jaw tightening. Charles shakes his head, almost too small a motion to be noticed, and Darwin sits back, exhaling.

"I know this guy," Darwin says out loud, and Erik's eyes narrow, his gaze intent on Darwin like he wishes it were him with the telepathy instead of Charles. "He was at Luma eight months ago."

"When _precisely_?" Erik asks. "What was he doing there, how did you meet him? I'd heard he was building up more resources on this side of the country," Erik begins, but Charles reaches over and puts a hand on Erik's shoulder, squeezing; Erik's attention comes off Darwin immediately, and he looks at Charles. There's a quick, silent exchange, and Erik's mouth twists, but he stops questioning Darwin, waiting on Charles's lead for now.

"He's definitely still in the research side of things," Darwin says. "He was involved in an experiment for mutants with out-of-control powers." Understanding washes over Erik's face, and he looks away, features hardening, before looking back at Darwin. "So that's one way he's getting his people." He looks at Charles again, and Angel glances down at Darwin's hands; they're trembling. "We need to look into the facilities in the Midwest and on the East Coast, find out who's been running those kinds of experiments, which mutants got taken to intensive care and never made it back. Any one of those people could be on his side at this point."

"We'll look into it," Charles promises. "Do we know anything else about Shaw's facilities, his base of operations?"

"No, and those few associates of his we know about for sure are all mobile. Some more than others, since he's got a teleporter." Angel flips through the dossier quickly after that. "I think we're going to need to reach out to some other cells, see who's got information we can patch together with what we have now." She looks over at Erik. "We can't just go into this blind, not when he's got mutants who may be able to counter us."

"I'm not asking you to," Erik says sharply. "But we only have one date and location to intercept him, and it's soon."

"If he's got hostages, we need to make that our first priority," Darwin says; Angel shifts back, watching the back of Darwin's neck flex and tighten. He's not going scaly, and he doesn't have anger radiating out of his voice, but she knows that quiet tone of his. That's not something she wants to be on the receiving end of, and maybe Erik senses that too, because he backs off, settles down some. His body language and the set of his jaw both say he doesn't agree, but he's not pushing it anymore. "We need to find out how many, who they are, what he's been doing with them."

"Agreed." Charles nods at Darwin. "And from what we do know about Shaw, there's every possibility that any mutants on his side have been coerced. We'll need more research. Hank? I think we'll be looking at more than one session with Cerebro over the upcoming days."

"I've been thinking about that," Hank says, putting his tablet down on the table. "I've got a theory that with Erik's electromagnetic abilities, we have a good shot at being able to increase your range _and_ decrease the toll Cerebro takes on you."

"So you can stay in there longer? Great," Raven says, sarcasm-edged.

"Or so he can find what he's looking for in a lot less time," Hank offers. "It's only a theory right now, I need to do some workups, and we'd need--" He swallows and looks at Erik, who has one eyebrow raised; Hank glances around the table and picks up a little strength from the way it's cleared off. Angel can just imagine him giving a little inner prayer of thanks that all the forks are gone. "We'd need to do some test runs. _Trial_ runs, I mean. If you're okay with that."

"We'll see," Charles cuts in. "Right now, Angel, if you could work with Sage on what we can learn from here; and Darwin and Raven, investigate possibilities for reconnaissance. We'll also need everything we can get on the Plaza and the surrounding area. Blueprints, schedules, the lot. If Sage doesn't have bandwidth for that, pull in--" he touches his temple briefly. "--Arnel can spare some time to help."

Everyone nods, and the rest of the meeting is short; without much information about where to go looking for Shaw, they really are running blind until they find out more.

"Charles, let me have a word with you," Darwin says, as everyone's standing up to go; Angel reaches out and squeezes his arm, the fact that he's still a tight bundle of nerves not lost on her. He's zeroed in on Charles like there's nothing else that matters, and he's still got a hand on that picture of Sebastian Shaw. She lets him go and helps Raven usher Hank and Erik out of the dining room; for all that they have little enough to go on, there's still a lot more work to do before they can afford to take on Shaw.

"We'll be ready," she tells Erik, reaching out to him, too, giving his hand a light squeeze. He seems startled by the gesture, or maybe the sentiment, but he nods at her.

"I've been ready for nine years," he says quietly. "It's hard to wait."

"I hear you." She tilts her head. "I've got some things to run by our resident computer expert. You might want to think about taking a flight or something. Get yourself centered again, squared away."

"Darwin suggested a race through the Danger Room, later on," Erik says. He glances back at hte closed dining room door. "I didn't realize he'd encountered Shaw. Eight months ago I was chasing down a lead in Argentina. I've looked into a lot of dead ends."

Nine years of that; given what Shaw's doing now, what she's read about Shaw's experiments in Genosha, she can almost see why infiltrating Hellfire seemed like a worthwhile proposition. Almost.

"Breathe a little," she tells him, gently. "You've got the time, and we're with you on it. We'll get him."

He nods, and without another word, he takes off down the hall. Whether he's headed for the flight chamber or not, Angel's got work to do, and she heads off to make it happen.

*

"From what I could pull," Angel is saying, "he's working under an assumed name, and he works with mutants who are pretty much at the end of the line--"

And Darwin's mind sends up a huge panicked flare. Charles opens to him in time to catch _fuck fuck fuck fuck, YOU,_ like a shout in Darwin's head, accompanying the image of Shaw.

«Darwin?»

Darwin meets his eyes. « _Alex_. Shit, Charles, I know this guy.»

«How, when, where?» Charles can't help the initial flood of thoughts; he dams it off and asks, «May I—?»

«--Fuck. I want you to, you've got permission,» Darwin sends. «I don't know if I'm going to be able to let you in. Try.»

Charles takes his gentlest approach, insinuating into Darwin's thoughts with stealth and care, seeking out traces of Shaw. But everything Darwin knows about Shaw is inextricably bound up with painful memories of Luma, of losing Alex, and when Charles tries to access it, Darwin's mind adapts to defend him from that distress, cutting Charles off so abruptly it hurts, like having a door closed on his fingertips.

He shakes his head minimally and Darwin grimaces and sits back with a sigh.

"I know this guy," Darwin repeats aloud, and next to Charles, Erik stiffens, instantly and painfully alert. Darwin continues, "He was at Luma eight months ago."

"When _precisely?"_ Erik asks. "What was he doing there, how did you meet him? I'd heard he was building up more resources on this side of the country--"

Charles reaches over and puts a hand on Erik's shoulder, gains his attention. «This is difficult for Darwin to talk about. Let me speak to him about it alone.»

«Can't you just get it from him mind to mind?»

«Not with his adaptability. He tried to let me, but his mind shut me out. I'll have to discuss it with him.» He can feel Erik's dissatisfaction; Charles adds, «If he has some space and privacy, he'll be able to think more clearly, remember more.»

«All right,» Erik agrees reluctantly, subsiding.

Darwin gets out as much as he can with everyone's eyes on him, and they move on to more immediate practical matters.

As the meeting wraps up, Charles doesn't even have to ask; Darwin is already saying, "Charles, let me have a word with you," standing with his fingertips splayed out across that photograph of Shaw.

"Of course. We'll go to the office."

Darwin nods, brusque, and folds up the dossier after one more look at Shaw. His expression hasn't looked this drawn since his early days at the Institute, but there's new hope and purpose in the set of his shoulders.

Charles shuts the door behind them once they arrive in the office. "I'm afraid I couldn't read you."

"Yeah, I thought there was a chance of that." Darwin rubs his temples, wincing a little. "Shaw was at Luma, right there. If I'd known what he was up to--"

"There was no way for you to have known, or of course you would've done everything you could," Charles tells him. Not to mention, at Luma, there was very little Darwin _could_ have done, but Charles elects not to remind him of that helplessness. "Please, sit," Charles walks him over to the conversation area and fetches him a cup of water from the cooler nearby to give him something to do with his hands.

Darwin sits, rubs his face, takes the water and stares into it, blowing out a breath. "I never even questioned it, what they told me. Just-- 'he's dead, sorry,' and I just stopped fucking looking." He looks up, more than a little frantic. "He could still be out there."

Charles sets a hand briefly on Darwin's, promising, "We'll find out. I haven't wanted to drag you through difficult memories, but now, anything more you can tell me will be helpful."

"Yeah, okay-- yeah. Yeah." Darwin exhales again, slowly, calming himself. "His name was, _is,_ Alex Summers, and his ability had to do with generating energy, plasma blasts I think, major offensive capability. He grew up in Alaska somewhere, don't know where, he never said, but as soon as his ability manifested, they took him down to the juvie group home in Yakima. He was there until he turned eighteen and they shipped him off to Luma, and he'd been in Luma two years when they introduced us. We were both part of the same isolated little group, people whose powers meant they needed to be separated from general population-- him because the energy fields he generated fucked with his collar, left it unpredictable about whether it was going to work or not, and me because--" his mouth twists. "I was too 'valuable' for testing to leave collared up around other people. There were some heavy fights in Luma. Early on, I was in some."

Charles nods, his attention split between his sympathy for Darwin, and the busier track of his mind, assembling all the relevant information to send to Angel and Sage later. "And you knew him… how long? How old would that make him now?"

Darwin speaks with halting care, now, as if the memories hurt and he's been keeping them carefully walled off all this time; like unfolding a fragile letter, making sure he can still read all the words before he gives them away. "We were in the same group early on, but we didn't start talking until they brought us together for the energy manipulation tests, so that was-- it was about eight months before it turned into something more. And then we got almost a year together, eleven months-- for three of those, Shaw was there working with him-- and then one morning I woke up and he was gone."

"I'm so sorry," says Charles. To live under those circumstances is tragic enough; worse yet, to lose someone as well. "We'll do everything we can to find him," Charles promises. He looks away to let Darwin compose himself, and occupies himself trying to put the pieces together. It's a matter of some consternation that he can't read Darwin directly, can't just glean these answers and sort through the facts; instead he has to ask, and force Darwin to relive it all. "Three months, Shaw was there? Can you remember when exactly?"

"Yeah, let me--" Darwin rubs his face again, trying to remember. "Okay, it was right at the beginning of September, last September. It was a Sunday, I remember that, because new test series didn't usually start until Mondays, but Shaw was chomping at the bit to get at Alex, I guess, or-- maybe it was because on Sundays, there were fewer people around to ask questions. I only met him a couple of times. Maybe-- maybe three times over the course of the next three months, but Alex kept me posted, said the--" Darwin inhales, a long and shaky breath. "He said the experiments hurt, sometimes, but he was pretty sure they were getting somewhere, because he was forming his energy into rings now."

Charles can't help flinching at the mention of Alex's pain, at the distress Darwin's exuding. Sometimes after Charles attempts to read him, Darwin's ability magnifies and emanates his negative emotions, an adaptation that preemptively staves Charles off from further intrusion. Charles blocks him as best he can and continues, "I'm sorry to have to ask. But any of this could turn out to be helpful. Did he tell you any other details?"

"He wasn't-- he wasn't real eager to talk about it, much, I think he knew it was going to worry me. But he had a mark on his temple..." Darwin points at the spot on his own head, his left temple just in front of the hairline. "The same kind of bruise you get when somebody draws blood. That happened more than once."

"Maybe that'll help us track something down through the medical records," Charles says, chilled, but careful not to show it. "So the work Shaw was doing with him, it was giving him more control?"

"No, that's just it," says Darwin. "At the start he did better, but he started having _less_ control as time went by. They almost didn't let me see him. When he disappeared at the beginning of December, at first I thought it'd just gotten even worse, that maybe he couldn't rein in the sparks anymore and they'd decided he wasn't safe outside his cell or the testing chambers."

"So in all that time working with you, Alex does better and better at controlling his powers; Shaw arrives and starts working with him, and Alex improves briefly, then gets rapidly worse. He didn't seem ill or anything, then, when you last saw him?"

"No, the only thing that was wrong with him was his powers. He looked a little tired sometimes, but-- it was Luma. We all looked a little tired sometimes."

Charles nods. "This intensive care story was likely a cover, from what we know of Shaw. So: Alex Summers, Alaska, Yakima, Luma," he organizes and compiles what they have into something he can easily transmit mentally. "Anything else— family? Distinguishing marks? Allergies? Anything could help."

"He had a brother. Older brother, Scott. He was a mutant, too, he got shipped off even earlier than Alex-- something about his eyesight, he said something about special glasses? I don't know if he even remembered it all, he was pretty young when they got split up."

"All right… I'll give all that to Sage and Angel and we'll do our best." Charles furrows his brow. "Can you tell us anything about Shaw that wasn't covered in the dossier?"

Darwin shakes his head. "No. He--" straightening, Darwin says, "Actually, yeah. He's not getting any older. That picture was ten years old, right? He still looks just like that."

"That's important." Charles adds seriously, "Thank you. Anything we can do to find Alex, we will. If everything goes to plan, we'll have Shaw sorted in two weeks. But this isn't going to end until we know what happened to Alex."

"Shaw might be the only one who knows," Darwin points out. "If Sage and Angel can't track Alex down..."

Charles understands. If Shaw is their only lead, and Erik kills him, then they might lose any chance of finding Alex.

"I'll be searching for Shaw and his accomplices in my session with Cerebro tonight. I'll look for Alex as well," Charles avoids the larger issue for now. "If his powers disrupt collars, I'll have that much more of a chance of finding him, now that I know what to look for." He meets and holds Darwin's gaze. "Shaw has a telepath on his side. Conceivably she could counter me. During the strike, if you can keep her busy, get her subdued, I'm more likely to have a chance of getting into Shaw's head and taking whatever we'll need." He offers a little smile. "You've had practice, training with me. I think you can do it."

"Anything I have to do. Anything," Darwin swears. He looks down, finishes the water he's holding and fidgets with the empty cup, taking a deep breath. "He might still be dead. They might have been telling the truth about that."

"And he might still be alive," Charles says gently. "You won't be able to stop yourself hoping, so let yourself hope, and use it." He clasps Darwin's hand for a moment again. "We'll keep looking til we know."

"Thank you. Just... thank you. If there's anything I can do for _you_..."

Charles strives for a lighter tone. "I do have dish duty tomorrow afternoon."

"Ha, no," Darwin actually smiles a bit. "You can scrub your own pots and pans. But I had a thought, earlier, about showing Erik the Danger Room. You could come with us. Maybe see him show off some..."

Ducking his head, Charles bites his lip and smiles, acknowledging that. "I've been thinking we should do a proper run with him in the Danger Room. He's clearly got combat experience, but the sooner we can get a clear picture of strengths and weaknesses, the better; we have two weeks to integrate him into the team."

"Yeah. We'll make it happen," says Darwin. He glances askance at Charles, lingering with a slightly awkward pause. "Did he tell you about this morning?"

"I got the basics from Hank," Charles answers, modulating his tone to remain as neutral as possible.

During his usual morning check-in with Hank, Charles learned about Erik's disturbance, and he deliberately chose not to seek out details from Darwin. He felt sure he'd betray his displeasure, and Darwin doesn't really deserve Charles's reproval. Darwin did what he thought was best, and possibly it was the right thing. Charles might only have added complication to an already fraught situation.

It was a fair judgement to make, and certainly this morning Darwin had every reason to make it, since the last he saw of Erik and Charles together, they were coming in from their argument on the balcony, angry words evident between them; Darwin had no way of knowing that they'd more than reconciled later that night. Still, unreasonably, Charles wants to insist that no matter what, he should be alerted to any situations that involve Erik.

He restrains himself, saying only, "Should we switch his room? Take any other precautions?"

"For now, I don't think so-- he didn't pull any of the pipes or the wiring, didn't wreck any of the doors or structural elements, and I think if Hank had taken his dishes back to the kitchen, Erik wouldn't have budged anything in his room at all-- maybe he caught the fork because it was solid stainless steel. It's ferromagnetic, so that's probably a little easier for him to grab hold of. He didn't even stop Hank's watch. If it happens again, we'll move him next to me."

"Very well," Charles says, and with a bit of effort, he manages to add, "Thank you for taking care of that."

"Thanks for trusting me to do it," Darwin replies. "I hope you got a chance to sleep in."

Charles quirks his lips, thinking of Erik waking him up with a beautifully targeted thought, seeking him out from the shower. "I had a chance to sleep _more,_ anyway," says Charles. He claps his hands on his knees briskly. "I'll see about setting up the Danger Room. I have some thoughts; we can't stop him using the room itself, but we could try to minimize metal in the course otherwise, perhaps see more of what he can do without his gift."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Let's not make him do it on his own, though," Darwin suggests, "we don't want him feeling like a lab rat. I'll go through the course with him-- which means you better work the details out with somebody else. If I hear too much about it, that's not fair."

Returning Darwin's smile, Charles stands, saying, "Good idea. I'll give you a," he flicks his fingers toward his temple, "when we have more of an idea when we'll start. I imagine it won't be til after lunch."

"I'll be ready. And... thanks again for-- for trying. I'll keep my fingers crossed."

*

There comes a point when wearing out his body is just going to court injury, and Erik knows he's nearing that place now-- especially if there's an obstacle course in his future.

And so, instead of heading for the gym or even the flight room, he takes a walk around the grounds, trying to imagine what it would be like growing up here.

Twelve children. He still hasn't met them, which might be intentional. It's a good security precaution; he'd do the same if he were running things around here. Still, if he's here the full two weeks, surely he'll run into some of them at one point or another. He wonders if they're happy, if they feel safe here. The vast expanse of grass, the woods surrounding the property, the lake, absurd as that is-- it's a far cry from Erik's life, constantly on the run with his mother, and then landing in Genosha's juvenile facility at eleven. It is nothing at all like the smaller, isolated space he was moved into when he turned fifteen.

He finds himself pacing through the hedge maze, a thing that seems more at home in fairytales and children's books than in a real place. It's big enough it could be used as a training zone, teaching the children to track or hide. It probably isn't, though; it's probably just another game to them, something quiet and peaceful, nothing more.

For Erik, tracking comes naturally-- he certainly won't forget the way out-- and he realizes a few steps in that there must be a fountain in the center of the maze. He can't hear water trickling just yet, but he can sense coins in varying positions, different states of corrosion. As he gets closer, he focuses on their composition: tiny disks of copper-plated zinc, some made of brass; various copper-nickel alloys in a few different sizes; even a few steel-core coins that are nickel or copper-plated, which means someone's dropped Canadian coins into the fountain a time or two. It only takes him a few minutes to find the center of the maze with the metal calling to him, even with three wrong turns along the way.

He was right about the fountain. It's limestone, about four feet high, and the bottom layer is full of coins. People make wishes here, and have been doing it for a long time. The stone benches surrounding it are worn smooth in places, as if hundreds of people have sat out here over the years. The hedges seem well-kept, the grass paths between them too, but he wonders if the maze has been in this configuration all Charles's life or if they replant it from time to time.

Charles. There it is again; all paths lead back to Charles, here. Agreeing to stay until they find Shaw meant a lot of things at first, but now he's wondering about that pull Charles has on him, about whether he could drag himself away from it even if he wanted to. Succumbing to the attraction is one thing; he's not going to fault himself for that, not anymore. But the temptation to stay here, make this place a home of sorts, is stronger than he'd like, and the idea might not be his own...

It's not something he wants to think about. Erik reaches a hand out, draws the coins out of the water, and lets them hover around the fountain, dozens of them, a shimmering wall that he spins around and around, looking at the coins. It's not difficult holding so many tiny things in the air this way, not even difficult getting them oriented in the same direction in space so that they form a cohesive, regular pattern.

When he spins them all, a fast spin as if flicking them all with the tip of a finger, _that's_ more complicated-- but the complication's welcome, and he keeps his mind clear for a while with that, spinning the coins that slow down, keeping them all moving at the same time.

He feels a brush against his mind, and his first impulse is to meet it with pleasure, too caught up in the challenge of spinning so many coins in the air to censor himself. But as Charles walks through one of the entrances to the center square of the labyrinth, Erik drops the coins back into the water, watching them fall in a multitude of tiny splashes.

"You don't have to stop on my account," Charles tells him. "I wouldn't mind seeing the show."

Erik smiles, but doesn't look up. "I was mostly finished. I've been at it for a while."

"I know." Charles heads to Erik's bench, no surprise there, even though there are three other benches to choose from. "May I?"

Shifting slightly to the left, Erik makes room, and Charles sits next to him.

"So many coins. And so much control," he observes.

"I needed to work some frustration out of my system," Erik curls his lips, glancing aside. "It helped."

"It may not seem it yet, but we're making progress."

"I know," he admits. "I wouldn't be going any faster on my own. I'm just not used to working in groups."

"It takes more of an investment up front, but it pays off," says Charles. "There's no substitute for someone covering your back."

Erik rests his gaze on the fountain again. "Let's hope." There's a chance it could be different this time. His mother... John... in the past when he's tried to watch someone's back, he's been of little use. But those were desperate circumstances, and he was a child, or not much more than one. This time he's prepared, with or without backup.

"I don't mean to interrupt your reverie," Charles smiles at him. "But I wanted to speak to you about the information you'll need... everyone's abilities, our assets and holdings."

Erik turns toward him. "Yes, all right. What do I need to know?"

"A great deal. But we can take a shortcut, if you're willing."

If Charles is proposing what Erik thinks, it's odd that he's so hesitant. Erik gave him free rein this morning. But maybe Charles is waiting to be invited in-- a comforting thought, whether Erik can trust it completely or not-- and if so, Erik can give him that invitation. In a way it's a relief: even with Erik's thoughts spinning like so many coins from a fountain, Charles isn't afraid to touch his mind.

"Yes, all right," he says, leaning forward, and Charles reaches out for him, his fingertips light on Erik's temple. By now Erik knows he doesn't need to make physical contact, not for something like this, but if it gives Erik the excuse to feel Charles's hands on him again, he won't argue.

He turns his head so Charles is cupping his cheek in his hand, exhaling softly, and Charles's touch goes a little slack, less about the connection intended to facilitate information-sharing, more about an entirely different sort of connection. Erik brings his hands up, too, curving his fingers over the sides of Charles's neck, his thumbs brushing Charles's cheeks as his fingers meet at the nape of Charles's neck, threading through the soft hair there.

«Charles... _yes_...»

Gauging someone's lust for him grew easier after six weeks in Hellfire, but feeling desire mingling between the two of them this way is worlds apart from those humans and the brutal simplicity of their craving for violence and sex. Erik licks his lips, letting his eyes close, body and mind both anticipating Charles's touch--

\--and then the electricity between them ebbs, and Erik's eyes snap open; Charles glances in the direction of the house, frowning.

As Erik draws back, Charles's hand slips away from him, his focus on the house, his gaze going abstract. "I'm sorry, someone's arriving at the gates. I'll have to handle this. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Erik shakes himself a bit, and cuts his eyes at Charles; as if he's going to wait around, especially after all that. He follows Charles, not the least bit surprised when Charles walks unerringly out of the maze. They head for the house together; Charles glances with raised eyebrows and a small smile, but says nothing.

"Dr. Xavier!" says the tall, thin man lingering in the atrium. Raven's nearby in a crisp little porter's costume, and she and Charles exchange amused looks.

"Mr. Campbell, sorry to keep you waiting," Charles offers his hand and a beautiful smile that looks entirely sincere. "Good to see you."

"Always a pleasure," says Campbell, eyes passing over Erik.

"Allow me to introduce Max Eisenhardt," Charles continues to smile, "he's a security consultant we've brought in to assess the property. Can't be too careful. Max, this is Frank Campbell, Vice Chairman of the Westchester Planning and Zoning Committee."

"Nice to meet you," Campbell offers his hand.

Erik shakes it and nods to him curtly. His eyes flick to Charles; he sends out «Eisenhardt?» uncertain whether he's stepping into someone else's role or if that's a new identity meant for him alone. Max. It could be worse, he supposes, and he would have taken documents in any name. If Max is German, at least he speaks the language.

«Later, please,» Charles says, moving forward to smooth over Erik's rudeness. "Mr. Campbell, what can we do for you today?"

The human seems nervous. Erik wonders if he senses danger on some subconscious animal level, an awareness that he's not among his own kind.

Erik's been on alert himself, here, nervous around so many other mutants-- but it isn't because he's afraid of them. It's because they're all so _vulnerable_. Charles and his associates have gone a very great distance to make this place an an island of safe territory, this many mutants together in a pack, guarding each other, yet there are any number of cracks in those defenses.

«Security consultant,» he can't help sending to Charles. «I can play that role, if need be, but I'd rather have more information about who this man thinks I am.»

«You don't need it right now, he won't be here long enough for it to matter,» Charles assures him, his friendly demeanor toward the human never changing.

«Be that as it may...»

"If we could speak privately," Campbell says, "there are some neighborhood changes I'd like to bring you up to date on."

«Later,» Charles promises Erik, «or if you're going to insist, turn away so it doesn't attract attention if you're staggered.» To Campbell, he goes on with, "Of course, and I appreciate your coming out," his voice oozing exquisite correctness. "My office, then? Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Do have a cup."

Erik turns away from Campbell as Charles suggested, permission granted-- and there's the slightest hint of pleasure from Charles as Erik does it, a sense of satisfaction sifting over Erik's thoughts in response to the rather insistent invitation. This is different from the intimacy out at the fountain, totally functional instead of that breathtaking brush with closeness, but it's better that way right now, particularly in front of others.

Erik closes his eyes, preparing, and the information _shoves_ its way into him, feeling like nothing so much as a stamp, pressed into ink and then imprinted onto Erik's memories.

 _Max Eisenhardt, independent security contractor, ASIS International-PSP certified, no place of birth or birthdate yet, the documents are still in progress. Recommended by a friend of a friend, on retainer indefinitely, staying at the mansion as a perk of the contract job..._

«Job perks, is it,» Erik thinks, amused despite himself. But Charles is ushering Campbell toward his office, and doesn't answer. Erik wonders if the impress of information would have felt the same at the fountain, so utilitarian, or if it would have felt more like the information about Quested and Shaw did at Hellfire, a scrawl of writing instantly committed to memory; there are so many different ways Charles's power manifests, so much complication in the mind.

"Tea would be nice, thank you," Campbell says, some indefinable tension releasing him.

Charles's face changes a moment later, and Erik finds himself wholly unsurprised when Charles lifts his hand to touch his temple.

"I don't have time for this," Charles says. "Raven, would you fetch the checkbook, please? He's here to solicit a bribe."

It's almost anticlimactic after all the trouble they've gone to, welcoming this intruder here. "You're going to pay it?" Erik asks.

"It's that or go before the committee to face the charge that our perimeter defenses and floodlights don't fit the 'character of the neighborhood,' submit to an inspection and possibly pay a fine," Charles answers. "Who would he claim was complaining, I wonder? Ducks? Squirrels? He hasn't thought that far ahead, he's just applying the same shakedown that's worked elsewhere."

Erik looks the man over, his frozen slack face. He's been on the inside of this hold, Charles's power keeping him still, but it's clear that Campbell's mind is suspended along with his body. Erik forces himself not to recoil, wondering instead what it would be like coming out of that suspension. After this morning, Erik can't help but think about the personal ramifications.

But that, thankfully, is not what's happening to this human, who's presumably being held simply as a matter of convenience, to give Charles and the others a chance to deal with him. "Why don't you just take the idea of soliciting the bribe out of his mind and send him away?"

"Because he'll still be the same pedestrian, anxious man who's convinced he needs a BMW on a Chevrolet salary," says Charles. "The idea will just occur to him again. I can't change his ethics or his avarice without setting off larger behavioral changes, the nature of which I can't predict, and we certainly don't need anyone noticing that Frank Campbell visited the Xavier Institute on the day he started going mental."

Limitations, again; Erik files those away in his memory, too. So Charles wouldn't have been able to create Erik's attraction to him out of nothing, not without unpredictable elements further on down the road; good to know.

Of course, that initial attraction wasn't forced at all. Erik might never have had the luxury of having a "type", but if he did, Charles would fit it very well, between his short stature and his lithe, nearly slender, build and his thick brown hair, not quite long enough to curl. The lips don't hurt, either, vivid and pink as though he's just been kissed, even when Erik's fairly sure that hasn't been the case.

He's distracting himself again, when he should be thinking about the ways Charles _could_ be manipulating him; maybe Charles couldn't have created attraction where none existed, but he certainly could have amplified that sense of urgency between them.

Erik should care more about that than he does; it should really be filling more of his thoughts than Charles's mouth-- and as he thinks of Charles's mouth again, Charles sweeps his tongue over his lips, just enough to send Erik's thoughts into disarray all over again. It's becoming more and more clear he'll have to shore up his reservations well away from Charles, out of his sight even if out of his mental range is an impossibility.

Raven returns with a leatherbound checkbook holder and a pen. The gold coloring on the pen is real plating, a gossamer-thin layer of 14 karat that's too new to begin wearing through just yet, although the brass beneath the gold has a much more aggressive call to it so far as Erik's concerned.

"Thank you. Could you make it out, please? I think we can get away with," Charles stares at Campbell, raising one eyebrow to an almost comical arch, "twenty-five hundred, and in the notes write 'Consultation.' Sign my name. And don't dot the i with a heart."

"Too late," says Raven, holding out the checkbook to him.

"Just a moment, I'm still editing his day," Charles tells her, his gaze steady on Campbell. "He expected it to take at least an hour to work his way round to the money. There's only so much traffic I can take out, he'll have to settle for forty minutes and congratulate himself on his bold cunning... All right. His wallet's in his back right pocket, if you care to do the honors."

Erik's closer, so he moves to handle it, raising his hand to catch it as he lifts the wallet out by the change inside.

Charles is grinning when Erik brings it around; pleased that Erik's engaged himself in their shadowplay, perhaps, or just interested as always in Erik's use of his powers. "Excellent." He finally peels his eyes from Campbell and receives the checkbook from Raven; he takes the wallet from Erik and places the check, not in the main compartment with the man's cash, but in another sleeve behind the credit card slots.

Erik steals looks at Campbell, watching to see if Charles's control wavers while his attention is divided. It seems not. Campbell remains unmoving.

Though he notices, "His eyes are watering."

Charles gives Erik the wallet again. "Did I forget blinking? I forgot blinking," he makes an irate noise and Campbell's eyes flap open and shut, and he lifts a hand and wipes them clear, face still blank as a puppet.

Erik replaces the wallet from a distance too, trickier since he can't budge the cloth pocket with his power. It helps that he doesn't care if he bruises the man, jamming the wallet until it finally goes in.

"Is that everything..." Charles looks searchingly at Campbell. "Remember the office from last time, too nervous to pay much attention today anyway; pleasure when he gets the check, satisfaction over the petty show of power; oh, Frank, really. Enjoy that bloody car, you absolute wanker."

Raven seems not to find any of this unusual, and in fact stands closer to Charles and puts her hand on his shoulder as if to brace him up.

A few moments later, Charles says, "Done. Now what does he expect for an exit... Raven, if you could get the door, and Erik, stand behind me and look intimidating-- I hardly need to tell you that-- okay. In three, two."

Charles flawlessly resumes his smile and offers his hand. "Let me thank you again for bringing the matter to my attention. And for your invaluable help."

"Glad to," the human says, all smiles himself as they shake again. "Have a good day, Dr. Xavier."

He departs, and Raven shuts the door behind him and goes back to Charles, sliding her arm around his waist. "Unanticipated operating expenses," she says, with the flavor of an old joke. "Between that and the purchase orders for the security improvements, I'm way over budget."

Charles returns her half-embrace and kisses her hair. "Cover it out of the discretionary account. Call Jordan if you need a hand moving money between accounts. We can cash in some bonds if we need it, but he'll know whether that's the best solution." She nods, but her eyes narrow momentarily in a considering fashion; something about that look makes Erik narrow his eyes in response. "Let's really make that tea before we all go back to work, what do you say? I could do with a cup after that."

As they walk, Charles crooks his left hand up and rolls his fingers a few times, glancing down with an odd expression.

"What?" Raven nudges him.

"He used to play the clarinet beautifully as a young man," Charles muses. "The one thing he tried that he really had a talent for. Can't think why he gave it up."

Apparently that, too, is ordinary; Raven just squeezes him fondly.

Erik has to ask, "Is the time saved really worth the effort that took?"

"Especially since I'm now wasting some of it on a break, you mean?" Charles smiles, which Erik now trusts a little less than he did before. "I have to check their minds before they leave here regardless to make sure they haven't noticed anything strange, and if I let him talk his way round to asking for the bribe, I'd still have to get into his head to pawn him off with the least amount. If I'm going in, I may as well go all in."

"Charles just hates really doing things. He'd be a brain in a jar if we let him," Raven teases as they pass through the hall, brother and sister still arm-in-arm.

"Don't prejudice him," says Charles, "he hasn't seen Cerebro yet."

Erik's certain Raven still doesn't like him, but she looks to him with concern all the same. "Are you going to be okay to go out there? It's not exactly like a lab, but it's pretty science-y."

"I never should have let you watch Buffy all those years," says Charles, and adds to Erik, "but it's a good point."

"It won't be a problem," says Erik. Charles looks apt to say more, but they arrive at the kitchen and Raven tugs him to the cabinet, and they absorb themselves in choosing the tea.

Erik hangs back, safely distant. Of course, he knows what Charles can do, he's known all along. Charles hid them from the humans at Hellfire as they left, plucked memories of Erik right out their minds, and he's been demonstrating increasingly intricate-- and intimate-- uses for his gifts since then.

But it's a sobering reminder to see firsthand how thoroughly Charles can create a new reality in someone's mind, simply by willing it. Charles is earnest in a way that's disarming, almost certainly by design. It's easy to become complacent, and forget how truly threatening he really is.

Threatening, and tempting. Erik wants to believe he can weigh this rationally, risks vs. rewards, caution, vigilance.

But watching Charles drink his tea, his lips an almost lurid hue in contrast with the white porcelain, mouth moving warmly against the thinnest tease of gold trim along the cup's rim, Erik knows it's already far too late for that.


End file.
